A Bloodied Hand
by mawmawile
Summary: In which Ayano stealing Sakyu's ring was a big mistake. (Inktober day 1: Ring)


At first, Ayano didn't think anything of it.

Info-chan had given her the instructions in precise, neat writing. _Sakyu Basu eats lunch with her younger sister everyday on the roof at 12 pm. She always takes off her ring when she does so; steal it and plant it in Kokona Haruka's bag_.

Stealing the ring was easy. Sakyu and Inkyu were as thick as thieves, entirely more engrossed in their conversations with each other than their lunch—and definitely their surroundings.

Ayano walked away from them, the sisters' chatter slowly decrescendoing into the silence of the open air. She twisted the ring in her hand, examining it. The band was made of yellow metal, though Ayano doubted it was truly golden. Embedded in the metal were three stones, bright pink sparkling in the sunlight.

Ayano blinked, not wanting to fixate on it, yet—she swallowed, and tried to stop the deep frown from forming on her face. A feeling of discomfort rooted itself within her chest, so she quickly followed Info-chan's instructions. Upon placing the stolen ring in Kokona's bag in the empty classroom, Ayano felt the urge to burst out of their and never come back. Perhaps vomit as well.

She shook her head and stepped out of the classroom, gripping her stomach. _What was that?_ she thought, watching the few students left in the hall flit by. Guilt? Anxiety? She had never felt either of those, for nothing nor no one.

Sighing, Ayano tried to forget about it all as she made her way to the guidance counselor's office.

* * *

It was dark.

Ayano tried to put one hand in front of her, but even that was too difficult to see. Or maybe the act of moving was simply impossible.

If she could move, perhaps Ayano would be hyperventilating.

Amongst the dark, a white face appeared in front of her. Its eyes were a pool of black ink, without pupils or an iris—unending, empty, deep. Its lips, curled into a conniving smile, was the color of storm clouds, sharp white teeth poking through.

"Ah, little one." Its smile grew more extreme, yet didn't open to speak. The voice was honeyed and rotten, tinged with malice and greed.

It reminded Ayano of her mother.

"Tell me your name."

"My name is—" The words threaten to spill out of her, like ocean waves crashing furiously on a dike. "No. I won't."

The face giggled and drew back, allowing Ayano view of its full body. It (she?) was decorated thinly by black lace and jewels, though any color was seemingly drained out of it. Though she had bat wings, they stayed motionless, and instead she floated in the void. "You're just like your mother, little one. Willful. Stubborn."

"M-mother?"

"Not the one who bore you." The… woman licked her grey lips. "The mother years and years ago that started your bloodline. Even now, her poisonous blood courses through you. Can't you feel it, darling?"

Ayano has never felt anything in her life. When her father hugged her, she stared into the distance. When her childhood bullies tore her hair and pushed her onto the dirt, she stood back up with an impassive face.

The first injury she remembers is when she was four years old, sitting in the kitchen with her mother. Her mother, carelessly (or perhaps wickedly), had left a knife out. The steel glinted in the light coming through the kitchen window.

Flowers of red bubbled onto her fingertips. When her father came into the room, the atmosphere was abuzz with panic and yelling.

"All girls must learn pain. That is the way of the Aishi family," her mother had said.

"My dear, are you okay? Are you hurt? Why did you touch it?" her father had asked without time to wonder why the sight of that poisonous blood didn't send his daughter into frenzied tears.

"Who are you?" Ayano asked.

The woman ignored her. "I need a host. Who better than the daughter of my first communion?"

When Ayano said nothing, the woman continued. "My darling niece stopped me from awakening for far too long, little flower. To thank you for freeing me, let me return the favor." The woman looked at her, night-black eyes trained on Ayano's forehead. "You burn with passion, I can feel it. I gave you the power to fight, all those years ago. Now, you don't have to. What do you say?"

She was silent, before finally whispering, "Ayano. My name is Ayano."


End file.
